


A Fine Line

by Accidentallytechohazardous



Category: Bleach
Genre: Established Relationship, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Genderplay, Genderqueer, Genderqueer Character, M/M, shuuhei being an unreasonably perfect boyfriend, that is a lot of tags with "gender" in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidentallytechohazardous/pseuds/Accidentallytechohazardous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shuuhei starts to notice some unusual changes in his boyfriend and things are clean and simple until they're not. Accepting that you can't be perfect is harder than it looks, and it looked pretty hard to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Character with gender dysphoria/genderqueer character. It’s really all up to your interpretation.

Sometimes I wonder if you know what a puzzle you are, if you do it on purpose to disguise yourself or it’s just in your nature to be infuriatingly confusing. Still, I love a good puzzle. I wonder if you’ll hate me for trying to figure you out, when you haven’t really solved yourself.  


Neither of us should have been surprised. I noticed the shift in your behavior before you do, and I had a lot of time to ruminate on it by myself while you’re gone. Out on the frontlines, fighting the good fight in the thick of battle, while the rest of us heel on the commands of our superiors until told otherwise. I know you can’t help it- it’s in your nature, it’s one of the reasons I’m so fond of you- but it makes me worry sometimes. Maybe one day you’ll follow Kuchiki and her human friends into another perilous situation and leave me behind, waiting for the casualty reports.  


You always manage to come back to me, though, and you’re always the same. Another reason I like you; fighting doesn’t change you. Sure, you mature with each experience, but in the end you’re still as loveable and dense as I remember.  


Maybe that’s why it was so easy to tell that you were starting to act differently.  


First of all, you started looking at girls. That should have been a dead giveaway, because you never looked at girls. I’ll admit, at first when I noticed it I was pretty jealous, but that’s because I couldn’t figure you out. Why women all of a sudden? Why didn’t you look at men the same way? Was I boring you?  


But no matter who held your eye for the briefest of moments, you always stayed by my side. The way that you looked at those girls was nothing like the way you looked at me, so I decided to be content with this development and let my petty envy go. All that mattered was that at the end of the day we were faithful to each other and you were still in my bed.  


And in that respect, you certainly stayed the same. Since we’ve been together you’ve been nothing less than affectionate and attentive, an enthusiastic lover by any measure. I love the things you only do for me, the private performances that only I get to attend; the little noises of pleasure you make, the heat of your breath on my neck, the catch in your voice when you practically command me to fuck you.  


That was another telltale. Not that you asked me to fuck you, exactly, because that happens often. Very often, in fact. I started to realize that I’m almost exclusively topping you, save for when you’re either sucking my cock or riding me often enough that I don’t catch on to the fact. I don’t mind you delving into your submissive side, in fact I like that its a part of you that only I get to see. But it does bother me when you try to hide yourself, and when you lie to me and I can’t figure out why.  


I wish I could say I put together the final clue like this, by noticing your most personal traits in our most intimate moments. But no, the last clue came out that time when we had that huge fight. Do you remember it? I certainly don’t. All I remember is what I said that ended it, and I’m not even sure what possessed me to say it.  


One moment we were both red in the face, yelling at each other about something stupid and quickly running out of ways to call each other names. Frustrated by your stealing all my best insults, I announced that you were a bitch. You seized up like your entire body functions just shut down with anger, glaring at me with pure venom before snarling and stomping off. Just as I was beginning to worry that calling you a bitch was too close to the stray dog allusion that people have been known to attribute to you and that I’ve strayed too close to personal territory, you charge back into the room and pounce me against the wall.  


Instead of breaking my nose, which was the expected response, you dropped to your knees and took my hakama down with you. Things get a little blurry after that. I remember having my cock sucked and coming so hard I thought I’d never be able to get an erection again. I must have found a way, though, because the rest of the night was a haze of hard, rough sex.  


I’ve observed that sometimes while fucking, you enjoy some dirty talk to a reasonable level. Hey, you’re an open-minded and adventurous individual, and I can’t help but appreciate that. Yet even in your horniest moments, I have never pegged you as the type to skip directly from having a slur angrily thrown in your face to jumping on my dick. I had a number of theories bouncing around in my head until then, but I think that was finally the breaking point where I could put it together. But if my suspicions were correct, it wasn’t enough just to deduce. I wanted to be sure.  


You and I aren’t good at subtly. I get nervous too quickly and you put up hint-proof walls too well. You prefer a direct approach, honest and open. That’s another thing I like about you. This isn’t really the kind of subject one can just dive right into, though. I wanted to be direct, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That would lead to hasty excuses and possible shouting and, only if I’m lucky, an incredibly awkward conversation about boundaries and the dangers of jumping to conclusions.  
That’s why the last time you came back to Soul Society, I took you out to dinner. You were impressed, and for good reason. You of all people know I’m rarely so frivolous with money. It’s also a little odd for us to be in public as a couple together. We prefer to keep our relationship to ourselves, in the comfort of our own privacy. Less likely to receive harassment that way.  


That time, though, we went out to a nice restaurant in a nice part of Seireitei and immediately order a nice bottle of sake. We didn’t bother to change out of our uniforms beforehand, which you question but I easily deflect with the reassurance that it doesn’t matter as long as you’re enjoying yourself.  


Then you get suspicious and I begin to regret all the paychecks I’m anticipating having to spend for this one attempt at lowering your guard. You started to wonder what I’ve done to go to all this trouble to treat you. You see, you couldn’t know that the only reason you’re suspicious is because I’m acting suspicious so that I can address my suspicions about you being suspicious. It’s a vicious circle, really.  


But a good meal and a fair amount of alcohol later, you’d forgotten about all of that. We were too busy catching up with each other, trying to make up for time spent apart apart. You had drunk to the point where the volume of your voice had risen inexplicably beyond your control. I wasn’t much better, all of my focus going into not giving away my ulterior intent for our outing. Besides, your good mood was infectious, and I found you charming even if the patrons of the surrounding tables don’t.  


It was only a matter of time before we were forcibly ejected from the restaurant, which we both agree wasn’t that great anyway and I should have gotten my tipping money back from the rude hostess who kicked us out. The sudden influx of fresh summer air was sobering, so it was only natural for us to go back to your place to recover our happy buzz.  


At that point, I’d reached the crossroads. In the privacy of your home, I had no excuse but to address the matter head-on.  


I told you I had something important to ask you and I wanted an honest answer. Through your confusion, you agreed to be frank.  


“Renji, have you ever felt… uncomfortable about your body?”  


For a second everything freezes in time. You didn’t move, I didn’t move, it was agonizing. You gaped at me, big brown eyes blown wide and color draining from your face, leaving it a sickly pale. You looked like you were stuck like that for a minute, unable to function or regain words until you forced them out with a sneer drawn tight across your face.  


“What? No, of course not!”  


Only too late did you realize your mistake. It was in your hesitation, your defensive tone. It’s a neon sign over your head announcing you a liar.  


“Alright, alright.” I said gently, trying to pacify you before you can incriminate yourself further. “It was just a question.”  


I made you mad. Your smile was flirtatious but your eyes narrowed down to angry slits, and I probably would have been more concerned about that if you weren’t also pulling me over to sit on my lap. “I’m sick of talking, Shuu. How about I thank you for dinner by showing you exactly how comfortable with my body I am.”  


You then proceeded to show me how much you aren’t. You kissed me and it started out well enough, even though we both taste like sake. It started to go downhill when you immediately pulled me on top of you, when you pulled off my clothes in record time but for some reason it took unreasonably long to coax you out of your own. At some point in the middle of me prepping you, you stopped meeting my eyes. You hid your face in a curtain of red hair and suddenly we felt like strangers. I wanted to stop, wanted to talk to you but you gave me a warning growl not to cease so I gave in and thrust into you until those growls turned into moans. I reached for your cock, focused on making sure at least one of us experiences some pleasure, but your hand wrapped around my wrist in a vice-like grip.  


“Don’t.” You hissed before you realized what you’ve done and finally meet my eyes again to see my bewildered expression. Your face flushed as deeply as your hair and your gaze slid away as you searched for an appropriate excuse. Your fingers reluctantly grasped your cock, but I could tell you wished they were mine. “I’ll do it. I want you to watch.”  


The whole thing happened too fast, and its not at all what we wanted. It’s all my fault that this happened, I don’t need you to tell me that. I exhumed something inside you, something that made you pull away from me. You went back to the human world after that, and you haven’t been back for three days. I wonder if you think of me and what I said.  


So now, the way I see it, I have two choices. On one hand, I could forget this experience ever happened. Forget I ever noticed something different about you. It might be too late, the damage I’ve done to your protective walls too severe for me to just forget what I almost saw, but we could try.  


Or I could do the very opposite. Which is where I am right now, sitting in your quarters because you never lock your door despite my repetitious warnings. That’s dangerous behavior, you know. You claim you have nothing worth stealing anyways but gods help me if someone were to break in and hurt you in your own home I’d never forgive you. I’ve thought about what I’m going to say to you now, how I’ll apologize but nothing I’ve come up with seems right. My best bet is to bring presents and improvise from there.  


I’m not sure how long I’ve been waiting. Certainly long enough to get a little spacey and second-guess myself. Maybe you’re taking long because you’re avoiding me. Maybe you don’t even want to see me again. Even so, I have to risk it. I can’t stand you thinking I don’t accept you.  


I jolt back into the present when I hear the sound of the door sliding open, of you grunting as you kick off your sandals and shutting it behind you. You haven’t noticed me yet but I can clearly see you, watching you stretch worn muscles behind your back and rotate a kink out of your neck.  


Mid-stretch, you seem to suddenly notice you aren’t alone. Your eyes snap open as you absorb my very unexpected presence. Your gaze sweeps down to my arms, the hearty bottle of sake in one and the bouquet of flowers in the other. They’re purple- carnations I think. I don’t care about flowers and neither do you, but I brought them in the hopes you’d see the symbolism I’m trying to convey.  


You give me a strained smile, which at least is better than shouting. “Wow, this is fancy! Wait a second- are you dying?”  


“Not any time soon.” I joke back, because I’ve made myself nervous again and don’t want to be the one to bring drama back to the conversation.  


“Am I dying?” You ask, coming close to be and very pointedly taking the sake out of my hands. If you have any further interest in the flowers, you don’t give me any indication.  


“I should hope not. This wouldn’t be a very good apology if I had to tell you that.” I twist the bouquet by the stems in my hands. You’re already going to the cabinet for sake dishes and I have little choice but to follow you.  


You set the bottle down on the counter. Your voice is suddenly tense. “It’s a pretty shitty apology anyways. You got nothing to apologize for.”  


I try to keep calm, level-headed. I never want my emotions to betray me- that’s your spiel, after all- but I’m regretting not having something to say planned beforehand. “I am sorry though. I’m sorry I pushed you out of your comfort zone. But mostly I’m sorry that I let you go through this alone for so long when I knew something was wrong. I should have figured that it can’t be easy for you to accept that sometimes you feel-“  


You move like lightning, like the sound of a whip cracking, too fast for me to follow. One minute you’re three feet away from me, engrossed in the meager stock of your Tupperware, and the next your face is inches from mine. Your fist hits the wall next to my head and you lean in over me, using your height to cage me in. Ridiculously, my primary concern is suddenly that the petals of the carnations are getting crushed between our chests.  


Your face is drawn in a scowl, but when you realize my focus is on the flowers and not your intimidation tactics it look more like a pout. “It’s fine. Just let it go.”  


I’m not deterred very easily. “You know, some people believe we’re all born with a two sides in us, one masculine and one feminine. Over time, these parts in us grow, sometimes to the point where one overshadows the other. But, in certain people both sides are strong, and it’s impossible to only pick one permanent side.” I take one flower from the bunch and twirl the stem around my fingers. “I personally wouldn’t know about that very well, since I’ve never felt the need to question anything about my identity. But to have a part of your personality that you feel like you can’t express… I can’t imagine it feels very good.”  


“Shuuhei, I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to. I don’t need any help with my ‘feminine side’, and I can express myself just fine, thanks.” You speak with a sneer, like you’re mocking the very idea. But your voice wavers, and I can tell I’ve stirred something inside you. Instead of rejection or apathy I’ve confronted you with the one thing you couldn’t imagine: understanding.  


If the look in your eyes is anything to go by, it terrifies you.  


I shift the flowers to cradle them in one arm, using my now free hand to tilt your chin in my direction. My lips press softly against yours, but you don’t react. When I look you in the eyes again your brows are furrowed, perplexed. Like you’re still waiting to see what I’m really trying to do.  


Your self-consciousness is endearing and I can’t help but smile a little bit. I brush my hand past your chin, to the back of your head where I undo the knot on your bandana. I wouldn’t be so heartless as to just drop your favorite accessory onto the floor, so I set it between my teeth as I set upon the more arduous of undoing your hairtie.  


You let me untie the knot around your ponytail, though it’s probably because you’re just growing tired of working against me. You do, to your credit, roll your eyes at my antics and take your bandana out of my mouth to stuff in your pocket.  


I’ve finally succeeded in letting down your hair, in the literal sense at least. Rivers of silky red tumble down your back and shoulders, and the way it frames your face makes it look a little softer somehow. The angular lines of your jaw, the bold strokes of your tattoos and the peculiar pattern you shave your hair around your forehead get muffled under a cover of scarlet.  


“You know, for having so many wonderful qualities, you seem to like showcasing how completely dense you are the most. It’s one of the many reasons I’m fond of you.” I muse to him, picking one of the violet flowers from the bouquet and snapping the head off the stem. “And when I say I’m fond of you, I mean I’m fond of all of you. Even parts of you that you think are weird or embarrassing; I’ll accept them because they’re parts of you.”  


Before you can articulate a response, I tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, tying it in place with the flower. The red and violet make a nice contrast together.  


“There.” I announce when I’m satisfied with my work. “You look nice.”  


Your cheeks glow pink, and your hand drops from its hold on the wall to check the flower. You don’t remove it though. When you finally speak again your voice is laced with sarcasm, and maybe a hint of cold, brutal bitterness. “Not everybody can pull this look off, you know.”  


It’s true that physically you don’t have a stereotypically feminine bone in your body. When you get right down to it that’s probably one of the reasons why you’re having such a hard time with this, but that doesn’t change my mind. “I just said that you look nice. Weren’t you listening?” I point out. “I might go so far as to say you look beautiful.”  


Your fist hits my chest. If you wanted to, that would have really, really hurt and ruined my efforts at being touching and sensitive. Instead, and much to my preference, your knuckles just bat against me, kittenish and resigned. You fall forward, just enough that your forehead hits my shoulder. “Fuck. You really piss me off, you know?”  


“I know, sweetheart.” I purr, comfortingly stroking your back. I don’t miss the way you shiver a little at the endearment.  


Your voice is muffled through my shoulder, and you sound so fragile. “You probably think I’m a freak right now. I’m disgusting and creepy, right.”  


“Of course not. No one in their right mind would ever think that.”  


“I wish I didn’t feel like this, Shuu.”  


“And why the hell not?” I pull your face away from my shoulder, holding you up to eye-level so you can see the seriousness of my face. “Renji, there is nothing wrong with you, I promise. Anyone who says otherwise is-“  


It’s a good thing you kiss me before any more sappiness sneaks out. Your arms wrap around my neck, deepening a kiss that’s infinitely better than any during our previous night together. It’s hot and needy and so vulnerable in just a way that I realize I’d been waiting for, even if I didn’t know what exactly “it” was.  


Gods, you’re like a fire, all warm and vibrant and utterly entrancing. You press your body against mine, crashing our lips together, finally unguarded and without reservation. I drag my fingers through your hair, mussing up the perfect strands of red. When I force us apart, your face is flushed and your breaths come in rapid, shallow pants.  


I’m struck with an idea, and although it could go horribly wrong I choose to ignore that. You make a noise of surprise as I sling one of your arms over my shoulder. You don’t catch on until I’m crouching for leverage, pulling you forward so I can hoist you up over my shoulder. I pray you don’t squirm, because although I have the mechanics to make carrying you work without hurting myself, your height and weight aren’t making it easy. Luckily, it ends up being a lot easier than I expected, although the walk to the futon could have benefitted from less wobbliness.  


“Showy jackass.” I hear you mumble. You probably would have said more if I didn’t make a point to set you down and distract you with another kiss.  
Here now, this feels right. It feels open, not clouded with doubt and hesitation. We’re so close to a breakthrough and I’m surprised how much I want you to tell me what you want from yourself, what you want from me.  


You let me pull the top of your shihashuko off halfway, but you’re reluctant to expose yourself further. You know that this time I’m aware of what you’ve been thinking, and that makes you vulnerable. Delicate, even. In a million and one other situations that word would have no relation to you at all, but this is different, isn’t it? So your top just hangs there, halfway off your shoulders while you bite your lip and search for the right words.  


“Shuuhei, I…” You stop yourself, giving your hands in your lap a frustrated glare.  


I hush you, pulling you closer to me so that I can press a kiss to your bare shoulder. Your head falls against me, nuzzling into my neck. I use my most calming voice, because I know this is hard for you. “What do you want, Renji?  


You suck a breath in through your teeth like a hiss. I admire that you don’t betray your fragility in your voice. “I want you to imagine that I’m a woman.” You add a forced chuckle before I can respond. “I know it’s hard. Just pretend, okay?”  


“Who has to pretend?” I say as I lower you onto the mattress. I want to stay in control, reassure you that this is okay. In reality, I’m starting to panic a little bit, because what am I even supposed to do? When I touch you as I would a woman, is it supposed to be different from the way I touch you as a man? You’ve just admitted a deeply personal desire to me, so how can I avoid disappointing you?  


When I kiss you, I imagine your lips coated in slick, shiny gloss, and I think that helps. Before I pull away, I swipe my tongue over your bottom lip, imitating the image in my mind. To really drive the point home, though, I have to be a little more direct. I have to talk.  


“You know,” I coo, using one hand to adjust the flower still tied in your hair. “You’re wrong. I think you can pull of this look pretty well, as a matter of fact. Pretty as a picture, all fluttering lashes and kiss-swollen lips.”  


You try to hide your gasp by pressing kisses on my jaw, but we both know I saw. That’s why you’ve left my mouth free to speak. “So pretty. Such a pretty girl.”  


We’ve known each other for a long time. As far as anyone else needs to know, in that duration Abarai Renji has never faltered in his masculinity, never responded to feminine descriptions, and certainly never whimpered with pure, raw emotion from something I’ve said. When it’s just you and me, though, its very different.  


You finally let me pull your uniform down, off your torso to hang where its tied off by your obi. My arms wrap around your waist and back, and now I can clearly understand why you’re so frustrated with this particular desire. If you were smaller, slimmer, had gentle, soft curves untouched by muscles and scars, maybe then you wouldn’t be so ashamed. But by the grace of your body type and years of physical training, to pass as femme even temporarily would be impossible. But to me, that’s not important.  


You make a noise of discontent when my hand glides over the hard, flat, unmistakably male plane of your chest. You’re probably thinking the same thing I’m thinking, but I rub your hip in an attempt to comfort you.  


“It’s cute to see you get shy, baby.” I chastise, and you relax at my tone. “But it’s really not necessary. Lots of beautiful girls have small breasts.”  


You groan with exasperation, although whether it’s at me for what I’m saying or at yourself for liking it I’m not sure. “You’re so embarrassing.”  


I can’t help the grin tugging at my lips, even as I busy myself by undoing your obi and pulling the rest of your uniform off with a few skillful yanks. You kiss my neck, burying your face under my chin and I reward you by squeezing your thighs until your breath hitches.  


“Your clit’s so hard already, gorgeous.” I hum, unwrapping your fundoshi to reveal your rising erection. After last time, I don’t know if I’m meant to wait for some kind of signal from you or not that this is okay. I realize I’m supposed to be focusing on you right now, and I am trying, but rejection carries its fair share of sting.  
This time you don’t shy away from my touch, which is a greater load off my shoulders than I care to admit. My hand strokes your member, keeping a purposely slow pace so I can watch you tremble, watch the way you buck your hips, desperate for more friction.  


It’s beautiful-you’re beautiful- The way your hands curl into fists full of twisted sheets, the unsteady heaving of your abdomen as I drag you closer and closer to your edge. There’s a familiar heat in my stomach that tells me what I already know, which is that you’re amazing and I’m aroused just by watching you react to my touch.  


I’m fully content to ignore my own need, and just focus on you. But I guess if sometimes I know you as well as you know yourself, I shouldn’t be surprised that the same is true vice versa. You don’t physically stop my hand, but your voice commands and I am bound to listen.  


“Shuuhei, I want you.” You grit your teeth as you struggle to regain control of your speech. Your hands tug impatiently at my obi, urging me. “Please, Shuuhei, fuck me!”  
Well damn, I don’t need further instruction than that. I can’t resist getting the last word in, as you well know, so you’re probably expecting it when I chuckle and tell you “I couldn’t dream of saying no to a lady.”  


While I’m still undressing, you’ve already turned halfway on the futon and slipped your hand under the mattress. After a few precious seconds of searching you make a sound of satisfaction and pull out the small container of lubricant. Without waiting for me to catch up, you coat two of your own fingers in the substance, which drip and leave a thin trail of shiny, translucent liquid down your body as you reach between your legs.  


By the time I’ve thrown my clothes to join yours in an indiscriminate pool of black and white fabric on the other side of the room, you’ve slipped your fingers into your entrance. I hesitate for a moment, watching the way you rock your hips forward and ride your fingers. I tear my gaze back up to your face, a little caught off guard to see your eyes meet mine. I must have a hungry look on my face, something you’ve told me in the past never fails to turn you on, because your eyes flutter and your lips part in breathy sigh.  


You pull your fingers away and motion for me to come closer, spreading the remainder of the lube on my cock for me. I release a deep breath at the touch of your hands, overshadowed by your gasp when I hoist your legs up and around my waist.  


I push in, the head of my cock sliding into your ass and you release a raspy moan, one that’s both breathy and growly at the same time. It’s simply a sound of pleasure, one followed by an increasing number of moans and whines like it after I start to rock my hips.  


Your eyes start to go hazy as you near the edge for the second time. Uninterrupted this time, I stroke your cock in hard pumps to match my thrusts, watching as each one turns you more and more into a writhing mess.  


Your spine arches, pushing yourself off the mattress, and I can’t imagine a sight more stunning on any other man or woman as you spill over my hand. You shudder, deep breaths racking your whole body as if you’ve had the wind knocked out of you. I tumble over my climax almost immediately afterwards, moaning your name and gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. I hope you won’t be upset about that later- maybe you’ll even appreciate those marks as a lasting reminder that you aren’t as hard and untouchable as you had worried you are.  


Exhausted, your body fails you as you collapse in my arms. You let me wrap my arms around you, curling into the warmth of my body as I cradle you. I don’t know at what point you fell asleep or for how long you stayed that way. But I do know that if you woke up before I had finished weaving the rest of the purple flowers into your hair in a thick braid, you didn’t try to stop me.


	2. Chapter 2

The worst part isn't that you found out, since that was bound to happen sooner or later. You're perceptive and nosy, and you always butt in on my thoughts even when it would be easier to leave them the hell alone. To be honest those are probably some of my favorite qualities of yours, but it doesn't make them less obnoxious.

It wasn't that I don't feel like I can even fully explain it to you yet. All the ways I try to sum my feelings up seem wrong, the words I need don't exist. I barely even understand myself half the time, how can I be expected to lay it all down on a map for someone else? I don't know. But I can try.

When Rukia and I were little kids, adult supervision was out of the question. Your childhood was the same, you know how it is when you have to band together with the other orphans just to stay alive. We made our own rules, learning to survive and thrive without parents. One thing you can at least say about growing up without an adult around is that it makes you a really good liar later on. A mom and a dad are supposed to love you for who you are, no matter who that is. Without parents, you have to learn to trick people into liking you.

Anyway, yeah when we were dumb little kids we got bored the way dumb little kids do and we'd play games. Anything we could make up our own rules to and didn't involve toys we couldn't afford or steal. I have a vivid memory of our little group splitting into boys and girls for a game that involved teams, and me being extremely distressed because I wanted to be on the girl team with Rukia. I tried to explain to my friends that it wasn't that I didn't like the boys' team anymore, since I was just fine playing with them yesterday, just today I wanted to play with Rukia and if she was on the girls' team than that's where I'd go, too. There wasn't really a reason to. I just wanted to.

I didn't really notice I started feeling like this more and more until the feeling started extending to everything. I didn't hit puberty so much as it hit me, at full force like the shakkaho of Mother Nature aimed directly at my face. Seriously, it was like one minute I was a shrimp and the next I had tripled in size. And as completely confusing and weird as that was by itself, it was nothing compared to the confusion and weirdness I got from interacting with other people my own age. Sometimes I'd hang out with other guys and legitimately enjoy the time spent. I could talk to them about stuff I couldn't really discuss with Rukia. Or any girl, really. Ever.

Other times I felt disconnected from my male peers. I could talk about the same things but the motivation and interest behind those conversations had decreased substantially. Overnight, I had lost the ability to relate to my friends the same way I had done just the previous day. I was just sharing the same space as them, feeling frustrated and indignant that things weren't the same when nothing about anyone else had changed. I felt like I had been cheated out of the capacity to participate in the strange ritual of male bonding, a forum that had once been so easy for me.

But the next day everything was back to normal. My power to communicate and enjoy the company of other guys rose from its ashes like a phoenix and I would pass the previous experience off as an abnormal social funk until the cycle would begin all over again. For years this went on, like a bad cold that would come back just as soon as I thought I had shaken it off. It wasn't debilitating and sometimes it wasn't even noticeable, depending on how many other things I had to occupy myself at the time, but it was always there, creeping around at the back of my mind.

There were a lot of things I like about being a guy, especially in the Shinigami Academy when they started coming in handy. I liked the power, the way that being aggressive and dominant was an expectation. My teachers and school staff never exactly approved when I got into fights or acted crass and stupid with the other teenaged boys, but it was anticipated and therefore tolerable.

Some things I didn't like so much, though. The more I realized that being aggressive and dominant was an expectation the more began to realize, hey- this is an expectation. I didn't like the idea that my behavior was centered around my gender. I didn't like the idea that by acting like myself I was somehow filling a quota, and if for whatever reason I acted differently this suddenly meant that I had failed.

At that point I did my best to throw myself in to training for as long as I could, because the more I stopped to think, the more questions I couldn't stop asking myself; why was I uncomfortable with the idea of accepting my gender as a factor in my identity? Was it because sometimes I couldn't relate to other people of my gender? Why was I suddenly afraid that I wasn't passing the requirements to be a guy?

And women- women like Rukia and Momo and a good chunk of my teachers at the academy, they were strong, smart, and graceful, yet it was weird when I got along better with them? Why was it that sometimes I could relate to my female friends better than my male ones?

Eventually I just accepted that I was abnormally good with women. The more I hung out with them, the more popular with them I got. They liked the way I looked and how I could talk to them about things they didn't feel like discussing with other guys. As an added bonus, my friends praised me for my ability to talk to girls, something that most guys my age compared to high-level kidou or dark magic.

What happened next was almost like denial, if you can define denial as complete misinterpretation for the purpose of being socially acceptable. It was exciting to be admired for something that came so naturally, or at least as exciting as something is allowed to be when you're pretending to be casual about it to look cool. Even on days when I didn't feel like I fully understood them anymore, guys wanted my company in hopes I would be a wingman for them. Girls liked me, and even grew to accept that I showed no signs of making romantic advantages on them ever. There were no downsides and everything was beautiful.

And yet something was still off. Being able to talk to girls was fine, and even being friends with them was good, but the moment I showed similar interests as women people gave me suspicious looks. I started getting jealous that girls could care about clothes, like it wasn't allowed for me to do the same. Getting into fights appeared more pointless when I realized that nobody thought it was harmless when girls did it. Worst was when I started envying them for how much attention the guys gave them, and at that point I forced myself to stop thinking like that. I think I finally cognitively accepted that something was different about me when I caught myself wishing that I wasn't so good at fighting so people wouldn't think it was weird for me to do girl stuff.

Now, let's skip ahead to the present, past all the stuff with Rukia's adoption into the Kuchiki Clan, my promotion into the Sixth Division, yadda yadda yadda. All this with constant cycling of my emotional availability between genders, kept as my carefully guarded dirty little secret. Sometimes I would fake it, for fear that if I just allowed myself to act naturally somebody would notice that I had lost my feeling of masculinity.

The hardest it ever got was after I started dating you. Before, I could always divide things into clear-cut boxes of male vs. female, and could react accordingly based on which box they were in. Our relationship blurred the line, wrecked the gender roles that I had carefully constructed in my mind to keep me in complete control over myself. I liked being held by you, that you took care of me when I was sick. I liked that I could do girly stuff like cuddle with you and you didn't think it was weird. But I was scared that I liked it.

It got harder and harder for me to fake feeling like a man on days when I didn't at all, eventually to the point where you caught on. You're a real piece of work, you know that? You and your goddamn flowers and the world-shattering relief that you weren't rejecting me, and the realization that you were the only person I trusted enough to tell the truth. Because as frustrating as it was have a gender that changed beyond my control, the worst part was that nobody knew, nobody even suspected. Because that's the world we have, isn't it? You're male, assumed man until forever. People can know your sex and suddenly they think they know all kinds of things about you, and you don't really know how to explain that they're wrong.

I gave in. I gave in to your stupid caring and acceptance and when I woke up to you braiding those fucking flowers in my hair I finally realized how destroyed I was inside.

And then, everything just came pouring out. All the bitterness and resentment and discomfort that I had been suppressing just came spewing forth from the depths of my repressed emotions in an exploding volcano of a rant. By some miracle you managed to sit there quietly and just listen for me to complain about how some days I didn't feel like I was a man and how much I hated feeling like I don't fit in my own body. I didn't care how stupid it sounded, me throwing a tantrum like a little kid, bemoaning that it wasn't fair. Like a little kid stomping my fists and whining that it's never the way I want it. No one else has to feel this way. No one else even understands.

Even you didn't really understand. But you accepted. And you hugged me while I grit my teeth and cursed into your shoulder as if that made a difference. You were there for me and that was enough.

Every morning since then, the first thing you say to me is ask if it's a guy day or a girl day. You don't have to do that, you know. Not all the time, but you do and I hate the little flutter of hope I get when you do because you're spoiling me. If you keep this up then soon enough I'm going to expect everyone to treat me the same, and I'm just going to end up disappointed when they don't.

Sometimes I feel really shitty that I'm like this, with all these issues, not for me but for you. It's like I have a ton of baggage and now you're obligated to help me carry it all. You must just have some terrible luck. If you're unlucky, maybe that explains what happened last week, and why I did what I did.

You were assigned to a mission in the human world. Short, perfectly routine, as any work expected of you is. Doesn't mean I didn't worry about you, you know? Is that how you always feel when I'm away? Because that's a really awful feeling. Wow. Anyway, you came back in once piece, for which I was grateful. You brought back a souvenir, too.

A rectangular, brown paper package you kept tucked under one arm like you had been entrusted with the key to Soul Society. You wouldn't tell anyone what it was, driving everyone crazy with your stupid cop-outs. I don't care how funny you think you are, no one ever wants to hear "the entrails of my latest victim" as an answer.

So I was a little surprised when I go home by myself and I find a suspiciously familiar package planted under the covers of my futon. I have a memory seared into my mind of me saying out loud to myself that if this was supposed to be a weird lesson to get me to lock my doors I was going to be eight different kinds of pissed at you.

In retrospect, it was really sweet. I guess I never got to tell you that, but at the time my brain didn't seem to comprehend the thought. I opened the package and suddenly I understood nothing. It's so strange, sometimes everything I do seems like nothing but feelings, and suddenly I was overtaken by this bizarre emotional deadening as I turned the dress over my hands.

I didn't even know they made sundresses in that size, particularly ones of smooth white cotton with a black floral pattern going around the hemline. I didn't know what suddenly made you decide to buy this for me or what you thought my reaction was going to be. I don't claim to know anything except I had to try on that sundress at that moment and no force in life or the following could have stopped me.

Maybe I should have waited though. I don't know what for- you, to keep me calm for when things inevitably went to dodge. Myself to get to a less uncontrollably emotional place, maybe? Whatever sign I should have waited for, I didn't. I wanted to wear the motherfucking dress. I was going to wear the motherfucking dress.

At some point, I became aware of the feeling of my chest being constricted, followed by an awareness of oppressing, claustrophobic panic welling inside me as I started to realize there wasn't enough fabric to stretch across my body. But I squeezed myself into the dress anyways, perhaps out of stupidity. Or maybe spite. No one could tell me not to wear a dress. Not society, not fear, not even myself. For one shining minute I was master of my own destiny.

It all would have gone perfectly if it were a size or some bigger. But no, fate conspired against me, for reasons I don't fully understand. Maybe in an alternate universe things turned out differently, and the zipper didn't get stuck because I was too big for this one stupid dress, and I didn't spend ten minutes struggling with the zipper and I didn't pull so hard that I ripped the back of the dress, but I guess I'll never know.

At that point, I'd had enough. I had enough of things I can't control stomping on me and trampling my feelings, leaving me vengeful with nothing blamable to take it out on. I had enough of not feeling like I don't fit in boxes- or clothes, for that matter! I had enough of being uncomfortable. I just snapped, and through what I can only describe as a complete mental breakdown the dress came off my body and became a wrecked pile of torn up strips of fabric.

I cleaned up the destroyed swatches of fabric the way you might clean up a murder site. I stuffed the remains of the dress into the brown packaging and, after checking to see that no one was in the hall, stuffed it down the garbage shoot of the Sixth Division living quarters. Like that just erased it from existing or something. Like I didn't have red marks on my shoulder from where the fabric bit into my skin. I'm not proud it happened, but it did.

I never told you what happened to the dress. I think you knew, anyways. Maybe it was just my imagination, but you seemed to bear an especially striking resemblance to a kicked puppy dog during the past few days. In stories and films, the murderer is always being followed by some reminder of their crimes, even if the reminder is all in their heads. Their guilt plays games with their mind, never letting them forget their misdeeds. Maybe you never even noticed the dress vanished. Maybe you're still waiting for me to wear it on a special occasion and tell you how grateful I am that you can accept the parts of me that I'm still struggling to deal with myself.

I reach the point where I finally can't stand it anymore. You look at me in surprise as I clutch a fistful of your uniform, maybe as an anchor or something. I want to say something profound, but the words don't make it from my brain to my mouth. All that comes out is me, in a voice that sounds like I'm begging. "How can you know?"

You blink, startled, looking at me. You bring your hand to mine and your skin is cool to the touch, and it grounds me. "Know what?"

"Who you are. What you are. Anything! How can everyone be so sure of themselves and I can't?"

You consider that for a moment, looking off for a minute like the answer is just going to come to you. If it were that easy, it would have worked for me a while ago. "Maybe they aren't. I don't think anyone is sure of themselves, really."

I take that in, feeling no less confused. "Then is this all in my head?"

You look back at me, eyes wide like you had never even considered the thought. "Do you think what you feel is real?"

"Yes. I mean I think so. It's the only thing that's felt like it fits."

"Then no, I don't think it's in your head." You say firmly, using a voice you might use if you were stating fact. "You're Abarai Renji, and you're a person. If you don't always feel like you're the same gender as you were before, that's just a part of being Renji, isn't it?"

Maybe it is. It doesn't make it easier, though.

"The dress was too small. I ripped it, so I threw it away. I'm sorry."

"Did you like it?"

"I loved it."

"I'm sorry it was the wrong size."

I kind of wish the dress had worked though, not that it fit but that it had worked. Like if I could just dress differently, that would be enough to turn me into this completely different person and suddenly I would never feel uncomfortable about the things I hate about my body again. Maybe it's better that I didn't fit though, that I couldn't delude myself into thinking that was the magic answer. It didn't make me accept myself. You did that.

That's kind of a weird epiphany to have. If I ever finally end up explaining my situation to people, they may eventually ask me "so at what point did you stop thinking that you were maybe a huge mistake" I'm going to have to sit there and explain that, just like my how body didn't always reflect the person I was on the inside, my clothes didn't necessarily reflect that either. And they'll say "But you did start dressing differently on your femme days, right? When you finally balled up and actually bought some women's clothes so your boyfriend wouldn't keep wasting all his money on stuff that didn't fit you." and I have to tell them yeah but you're missing the point it was never really about the clothes try to keep with the program, goddammit.

I want to promise you that this means I've accepted all my sums as a whole. That I'm comfortable with my gender and the way it shifts like water flowing through my hands, but part of me is still stuck on the fact that there are going to be some circumstances where hope and acceptance aren't going to make me feel less isolated from the rest of the world. I'm my own little island, cut off from the rest of civilization by an ocean full of resentment and confusion and fear.

But as long as I have people like you who are willing to build a bridge all the way over that ocean from my island to yours, the waters don't seem as deep or stretch on forever. And knowing that at least I'm not a little dot of an island left to combat the forces of the ocean alone, that bridge gives me a feeling that's at least a little like hope.


End file.
